


The Thrill of the Hunt (Run)

by DM (altilis)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Smut, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-08
Updated: 2010-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-12 17:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altilis/pseuds/DM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a forest, a chase, and sex. Set in an alternative universe inspired by the prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thrill of the Hunt (Run)

  
The forest air presses cold and damp against his skin, all over his body except for where the shorts cling to his thighs. Twigs, seeds, and gravel crunch under his thin sandals when he can't find a soft patch of dirt, and forest critters scurry from his position as he gives himself away. His hands feel clammy, his skin is chilled, a slight frown pulls at his lips, and his head swivels continuously. Taking in every sound, every movement against the brush, whether indigenous, Vulcan, or Human.

He doesn't prefer these long hunts in the woods; they're too unpredictable. Of all the hunters at the club that could find him, any of them have a good chance of catching him, and that's an unsavory possibility. Instead of this, he'd rather tolerate the stealth approaches among the meadow with tall grass, where he can spot and hear every hunter before they get too close. They can never catch him.

Except for one.

There's one blond-haired, blue-eyed Hunter at the club that catches the attention of patrons and Prey alike. He smiles with sharp eyes, almost devilish, but Spock has seen them soften in his direction, especially when his hands are at Spock's shoulders, pinning him down into the soft ground where no one can see them.

Spock shivers again, but this time it's like a hot flush, and he discards the memory before it distracts him any further. The very next moment there's a crunch of twigs off to his left and what he thinks is a click of a weapon, and Spock takes off. He steps lightly and weaves through the trees almost soundlessly, heart practically humming in his side. A river comes up sooner than he planned, wide and shallow but cold from snowmelt. He took off towards the south along the river bank, but still among the trees; it would be easy enough to spot him in the open.

He runs, pauses, listens, and then continues running. It may be dangerous to follow the river but it's the only real artery one can follow through the forest, and he doesn't intend to get lost. Unfortunately at one point the forest halts, but the river keeps going: it winds through a large meadow with varying swaths of short grass and long green-yellowish brush. He'd rather not turn back, and right now there is a slim possibility that he can get through this, off the game area and into the wild.

He'll take advantage of the opportunity.

Ducking low, Spock begins to make his way through the brush, keeping to the long areas. With every footstep he's careful not to trample too mush to give away his position, and every five feet or so he stops, and listens.

After one-hundred feet, he stops prematurely, and he hears the rustle of grass and brush that doesn't coincide with his footsteps. Spock drops down immediately onto his stomach and pulls himself across the dirt to the side, a complete ninety degrees from his original projected path, and then waits.

And waits.

And waits.

His heart is beating so hard that it's constant hum is the only thing he can hear in his head, crowding out even the sounds he's trying to hear. Where are the footsteps, the clicks of the rifle, the heavy breathing of a lumbering human? The rushing water of the river doesn't help either. Tentatively, he pushes his torso off the ground, and then onto his knees. His head swivels left to right as he rises a little more off the ground--

A ball of red paint splats hard against the back of his left shoulder, hard enough to bruise later. He's caught, but he doesn't know by who, so his heart just continues beating, even as he lays low to the cool earth and waits. His hands are fisted tight, blunt fingernails digging into his palm, ready to lash out.

"Hey, Spock." Spock glances up towards the voice, and relaxes. It's the blond-haired Hunter, the one they called Jim, standing there in dark green camouflage clothes. Under one arm he holds the rifle and the other rests at the utility belt around his waist. He stands there, waiting, until Spock pushes himself up to his knees.

To his surprise, Jim kneels as well, tossing the rifle aside. Gloved hands cup his face as Jim leans in to kiss him, light at first but then passionate. They're breathlessly pressing against each other, Spock seeking the relative warmth of his torso against the mountain air, and hardly pushes against him when Jim pins him into the ground. He feels trapped by also protected: against the other Hunters, against the cold, against the wilderness.

"I don't want to take you back to the club," Jim's whispering in his ear as he reaches one hand back to unclip the belt. He pushes himself up to tear it away and toss it over to the rifle, but his eyes never leave Spock. Gloved hands are moving up his torso, smoothing over his chest, and Jim continues to talk. "Don't want to see the others looking at you, thinking they can have you." He leans over Spock again, teeth at his shoulder and collar bone, biting lightly along his neck, and then asks in a low voice: "You don't want to go back either, do you?"

"No," Spock whispers back, and his hips angle up towards Jim's, feeling the hardness already there beneath the fatigues. "I would rather be free."

Their hips rock together, and they both let out a breath at the amazing feeling of _friction_. "Yeah," Jim breathes. "Yeah. I'd like that, too." He kisses Spock's jaw, and then his lips, and they kiss for a few more moments.

Suddenly, Jim pulls back, and Spock finds himself rolled onto his stomach with Jim pressing all along his back, hands ghosting over his arms and moving them over his head. Jim's breath glides over his neck, and a certain pressure at his buttocks tells him that Jim is more impatient than he looks. Then, in another unprecedented move, Jim moves off of him.

"Jim--" Spock pleads and protests in the same breath. A gloved hand presses down at the back of his neck, pressing down lightly when he begins to push up. His hips squirm and shift as Jim grabs the edge of his shorts and pulls, exposing his buttocks to the cool air.

"Shhhh," Jim says as he pulls the shorts lower. Spock can feel them around his knees now. "I've got you, Spock. I've got you. No one else." There's a brief pause of movement, the sound of cloth rustling.

"That is hardly the point in this situation, Jim--!" Cold cream presses against his entrance, gently and slowly working him open. Spock shivers, and then relaxes, as a finger works into him up to the knuckle. At first Spock tenses around it, but when it doesn't move and nothing goes any further, he relaxes again. Then, a second finger works into him and the two fingers begin to slowly thrust into him, and soon Spock finds himself panting quietly as his body begins to anticipate.

"That's it," Jim says in a low tone by his ear, continuing to fuck Spock with his fingers. "You've been waiting for me, haven't you? Knew where I would look for you…" Spock doesn't answer him, but Jim curves his fingers deep into him and Spock releases a quiet, breathless groan. "Thought so."

Spock grips at the small grass roots below his palms, flexing his grip twice. He doesn't want to take it like this, unable to see Jim over him. He pushed himself up again, one hand and then the other. "May I watch you?"

"Watch? Sure." Jim chuckled, and once his fingers pulled out Spock rolled onto his back. His hands reached up to thread through Jim's hair, pulling him down for another kiss. Jim leans into it while his hands are preoccupied. There's the faint sound of a zipper being undone.

"I'm not bringing you back to the club," He says again, this time just a whisper against his cheek. Both hands, one gloved and one not, move up over the back of his thighs and push his knees towards his chest until they can hook over Jim's shoulders.

Jim slides into him, a slow move that ends in a smooth slide until Spock feels _filled_. His muscles clench tight around Jim's cock, eliciting a moan as their foreheads touch briefly. "Then where will we go?" Spock asks, arching up as Jim pulls back and then thrusts in again.

"Away." Jim punctuates his answer with another thrust. "Not here. Not back to the others. Anywhere…as long as I've got you."

Jim fucks him in earnest now, enough that he can feel the burn of friction against his back from the ground. The angle is better than he could have asked before, driving into that spot that has him gasping for breath with Jim's name on his lips. His cock lies almost ignored on his stomach, hard and wanting until Jim reaches down a hand between their bodies. The squeezes and strokes have him canting his hips him, almost in time with Jim's thrusts.

"Jim," Spock breathes, nails digging into the muscle of Jim's shoulders now in a desperate attempt not to fall, not to let go of himself because he's a Vulcan, he shouldn't be surrendering himself like this regardless of being supposed Prey. Yet he wants to, there's something about Jim that tells him he should, and the conflict makes him dig his nails in deeper.

"Fucking gorgeous, Spock," Jim whispers back, eyes burning with focus and determination as they gaze down at him; another squeeze and following thrust has Spock short for breath. "Gonna be all mine, gonna take you from here, take care of you…"

"Yours." The word leaves his mouth before he can stop it, but he can hardly focus on what he's saying: only what Jim's saying, whispering to him and only him. Hands press into his skin; they're touching all over; the only thing piercing through the haze of his mind is Jim's voice.

"Yeah," Jim likes the idea. He leans forward, pressing Spock's legs towards his chest and thrusting harder, faster into him. Spock has never felt more open in his life, or more wanted as Jim keeps up his litany: mine, gonna protect you, safe, gonna be free with me.

He forgets the time for one of the few moments in his life, drowning in the immediate safety of Jim when Jim's voice, strained from the effort, arousal, and probably his self restraint mutters, "Come, Spock," with a strong grip stroking his cock. He comes, groaning with relief and desire and gratitude, and he only feels a few more tight thrusts from Jim until he's staggered to a stop, too, breathing hard against Spock's neck.

They breath together for a short time, hearts beating fast, until Jim pulls back and rolls out onto his back next to Spock. He can't see it since his eyes are closed, but he hears the soft rustle of the grass and the uniform. Their bodies calm.

A breeze sweeps through the meadow, and Spock shivers. Jim chuckles, and Spock opens his eyes. Jim's sitting up, looking down at him, previously-discarded shorts in his hand. "You're not going to run very far without these."

Spock agrees with a silent nod, and grabs the pair while he stands. He's pulled them on, finds and wears one of his sandals from the brush and is about to put on the other one on when he pauses, looks up, and stares towards the forest to the east. He can hear the hum of a vehicle traveling over land. Quickly, he tries to calculate how much time has elapsed, should they have been back at the starting point by now, have they been out too long…?

Jim interrupts his thought process by grabbing his hand. Spock looks at him, confused. "Spock," Jim says, tugging him west. "Let's go."

They run.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on st_xi_kink_meme (http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/5274.html?thread=5480090):
> 
> Kirk as a Hunter, Spock as a Prey. Maybe humans have tradition of hunting Vulcans? And steamy sex please?


End file.
